


Wounds Heal All the Time

by katiemariie



Category: Lost
Genre: Character of Color, Flashsideways Verse, Gen, community: awesome people of color comment-a-thon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Ana Lucia did with the bribe money. For the prompt: Lost + Ana-Lucia + time heals all wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds Heal All the Time

She's not a crooked cop.

Well, she is, but not as crooked as most people think. She never beats on perps—no matter how much they deserve it—and she's never taken a kickback from nobody. Most cops—they go into a bar or a diner and expect to be treated like fucking kings—get free food and drinks. Terrible tippers. The worst. But Ana-Lucia's never been like that 'cause she remembers when she was real little—maybe three or four—and her mom was waitressing at this family run joint, saving up money before she entered the academy. Most of the time, Ana stayed with her abuela while her mom was working, but sometimes she would have to go with her. She'd spend the day in a booth in the back, coloring and playing with whatever toys her mom grabbed on the way out the door. And she remembers to this day how the customers treated her mom. She swore she was never gonna be like them.

That's why it kills her now to be placed in some lower class of cop, below the usual assholes who rough up streetwalkers and act like they deserve everything just because they're cops. She's not like that. But here she is with over a hundred grand in her pocket from the guy who owns that fried chicken franchise. She doesn't know who she let go and she really doesn't care. All that matters is that she has the money.

She stashes it in her apartment, taking long enough to give them a head start, and goes back to the station. She half-asses her way through explaining what happened, and her mother lets her go for the day. Then it's back to the apartment to change and grab the cash.

The drop spot is under a freeway overpass a block from—get this—a Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack. There's a black van—way to be inconspicuous. Arturo opens the front driver's side door shakily.

"You got the money?" he asks.

"You got the girl?"

He looks back at the van. "Yeah."

"I don't drop the cash until I see the girl."

"C'mon, I ain't got time for this," he whines, sounding like the wannabe tough guy he is. "I gotta get my ass on a flight to Australia before el pinche jefe figures out I took the girl. He was gonna kill her tonight. That's what he said. You don't know how much of a favor I'm doing you."

Ana-Lucia pulls her glock from the back of her pants, putting it Arturo. "And I'm really thankful, but I don't give you the money 'til I see the girl."

"Shit! We said no guns!"

"We also said no cops, but here I am. Now show me the girl!"

"Okay, okay. Fuck."

She follows him as he opens the back door of the van. "If you got a gun back there—"

"I don't." He grabs the sleeping toddler—she always fell asleep on car rides—and shows her to Ana-Lucia. "See? No swiv."

Ana throws the money on the ground, taking Mar-y-Sol when Arturo dives for the wad of cash.

Mar fusses as Ana straps her into her car seat. "Hey, mija, it's okay. Mami's here. It's okay. Mami'll never let anyone take you away ever again."

It hurts a little—all those memories flowing back. None of them are particularly happy. The ones that stick out involve her getting shot in the gut. And losing her baby. And losing her life.

There's a church she knows she's supposed to go to now. A big, white, sterile Unitarian-type church. She should drive home with her fictional daughter, throw on a nice dress, do her hair and make-up, go to the church, and then what? Walk into some light? Leave her daughter forever? No. No.

She closes the back door of the car, settles into the driver's seat, checks her mirrors and puts a Wiggles CD in the stereo.

She may be a dead crooked cop, but she's good mother.


End file.
